"Dorian," she hissed, pulling him into her tiny corner office and shutting the door firmly behind them.
"What are you doing here?"
He looked perfectly calm. "Making sure you ate. Crispin says that Aria used to eat more when she was at this stage." Then, with solemn triumph, he produced a takeout box from a paper bag. The smell hit her first.
Rune's stomach lurched violently. "Dorian," she gasped, snatching the wastebasket just in time.
He froze. "Okay, not Schezwan noodles. Noted." The offending item vanished back into the bag. “You used to love this stuff”, he grumbled under his breath.
When she re-emerged, he was crossing something off in his small notebook .
"Whatnow?" Rune demanded.
He opened it, flipping to a neatly drawn list. "Just making a list of things you can't eat at the moment," he said matter-of-factly, pen in hand. Rune sank into her chair, head in her hands. "Something is seriously wrong with you."
By the end of the week, the ripple effect of his "efficiency" started to show. Her father's long-delayed loan for the custom motorbike shop he'd always dreamt of starting suddenly came through. When Rune suspiciously side eyed him, Dorian denied having anything to do with it. Days later, he somehow managed to get tickets for the sold-out football final her dad had been moaning about for months. He had already arranged the hotel and travel, and wisely handed the envelope to her mum like it was the most natural thing in the world. He had been muttering sympathetically about how badly she needed a break for a couple of weeks.
Her mum's lips pursed. "I'm not one to be bribed, Dorian."
He'd smiled that infuriating, patient smile as a dimple cut into his left cheek. Her other was a sucker for dimples. "It's not a bribe, Mrs. O'Connor. It's appreciation. You and Mr. O'Connor have been kind to me." A mild exaggeration, considering her Da had been mumbling to a friend about a good place to bury his body just one week ago.
"You should be enjoying your retirement." Again, Rune's father had grumbled, but by the next morning, he was on the phone booking time off. And when her mum worried aloud about leaving Rune alone, Dorian had stepped right in with, "Don't worry. I'll move in for the week."
Rune nearly choked on her tea. "I can take care of myself."
"Of course you can," her mum said sweetly. "But it's nice to have someone around, isn't it? What if there is an emergency? You are just past your first trimester."
Traitor,Rune thought darkly. Her mother, her own flesh and blood, was clearly drifting over to Team Dorian.
Maybe it had something to do with what her grandfather had let slip over Sunday dinner two days ago. That Dorian had been the anonymous bone-marrow donor for Owain years ago.
Rune had sat there while the table buzzed with the revelation, her mum looking both stricken and moved. And Dorian, seated at the end of the table, had simply chased a pea with his fork, eyes fixed on his plate, saying nothing at all. He looked uncomfortable, and Dorian never looked anything short of confident.
Later that day, Rune had come upon their two bent heads- one wayward blonde curls, the other pin-straight brunette threaded with grey-as they drank tea at the kitchen table and her mum reminisced about Owain and how smart a boy he was. Later that day, the house was quiet except for the hum of the old radiator. Rune had already gone upstairs, and Dorian sat in the kitchen with her Da, nursing a whisky her mother had poured for them before retreating to bed. It had been a difficult day for her.
For a long time, neither man spoke. Then her Da leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "So," he said, his voice low but steady, "you're the one who tried to save my boy."
Dorian looked down into his tumbler. "I am sorry it didn't work in the end."
"You did what you could," Ivan said after a moment, his eyes with a suspicious shine to them. "That's more than most would have at that age."
Another silence prevailed , heavier this time. Ivan studied him, measuring. "What are your intentions towards my Rune?"
Dorian was quiet, as if weighing out the words. After a couple of minutes, he said quietly, "My family life was... not something to be proud of. My parents should never have had children. They didn't know how to love anyone but themselves. I've spent most of my life trying to avoid becoming them."
Ivan didn't interrupt. His eyes had lost that hard edge, but he stayed silent, letting Dorian speak.
"I didn't want my children to suffer for who I am," Dorian went on. "But lately I've realized... there are families that are different. Families like yours. People who love without putting a price on that love. Children grow into adults who believe whatever happened in their own homes is normal for everyone. And I..." he stopped, exhaling shakily, "I'm my mother's son, if not my father's. But they shaped me, for better or worse. And I wasn't sure how I'd turn out as a dad. I am worried."
Ivan's brow furrowed, but his voice, when it came, did not leave any room for doubt. "You're already thinking about what kind of father you'll be. That's enough to reassure me that you will do your best for your children and for Rune."
As leaned forward, steel slid into his gaze again. "But I'll be watching. Always."
Dorian's mouth curved faintly. "I'd expect nothing less."
Ivan grunted, then reached for the biscuit tin. "Did you have anything to do with the loan for the shop?"
Dorian blinked. "What loan?"
